


irredividious.

by duelbraids



Series: blessedentia archives [7]
Category: Xenoblade Chronicles
Genre: death scene death scene death scene child in mourning death scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-17 23:36:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5889499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duelbraids/pseuds/duelbraids
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>unable to be revivied<br/>( little girls cry when their big brothers don't come home from war )</p>
            </blockquote>





	irredividious.

Go on, he had told her, move on with your friends; but to go on would be to leave this place in body and mind, and Melia suspects she might always be stuck here. In some way, her mind would be forever tied to this place inside the Bionis, just as she would be forever tied to Prison Island, forever tied to these places filled with tragedy, with her tragedy. Perhaps that made Melia herself like a tomb, holding in all these different deaths inside her like they were the only memories she would have left.

She doesn’t mean to, but she starts sobbing. Her feet had barely been on the ground long enough for her friends to rush to her side when her choking gasps began ( crying had always ripped her of the air in her lungs, like it had rushed out the second beforehand, a more bitter girl might say even the air had abandoned her. ) Melia did her best to hide it, to cover her face with her hands, but she can remember it too well – he had been right there, a moment ago, the brother who’d played both sibling and father for her, he’d tried to wipe her tears away, hadn’t he?

One hand reaches out and rubs against her back; but Melia can barely respond to the touch. It is there, she acknowledges it, and flinches back when she first feels it, but she does nothing to change the situation. Whoever it is, they can’t matter to her. Not right now, nothing can matter when the wounds are still fresh and holding the feather to her heart is like pressing an arrow into her chest.

Darker voice tries to bring her round, with something like “dry your tears,” but to that she is reminded of the father who was never there, who she wasn’t allowed to grieve ( they can’t take her time away from her, they can’t take her grief away the same way Kallian was ripped from her – she won’t allow it. ) “Come now, Melia, we do not have time to cry.” they try once more, and Melia only looks over to them, blurry, teary vision telling her nothing, but surely the awful redness to her face and the puffiness under her eyes must be enough to tell them, shouldn’t it? Hadn’t they had time to mourn, where she’d gotten none?

“Dunban is right, Melia,” softer voice this time, younger than the one before, still just as biting to her, “We can cry later, but right now we have to defeat that maniac of a god. Y’know, before he blows us all to bits.”

“Shut up.” Melia’s voice is raw, and dry, and breathy, and her words are coarse, unbefitting of an Empress, but it is the first genuine thing out of her mouth. “You have no right,” she continues, “to tell me we have no time – if this were any different, I know you would let each other cry, so why not give the same to me?” Her throat begins to close up, and her voice is but a mere squeak by her last words. ( it is because you are an Empress, and Empresses are to feel nothing. )

For a moment, they don’t respond; or perhaps Melia did not let them, for she continues on, bitterness seeping into her words, “Why– do you think I can handle it? You think I can just – just pull it all together? _My brother just died,_ and you – you all have the audacity to tell me not to cry?” She realizes, how childish she must sound, oh how much of a mess she must look; certainly, only a child would do something like this, only a little kid would selfishly demand what cannot be had. Selfish – that’s exactly what Melia Antiqua was – no, is, for she still lives. Kallian would be was, but Melia is.

Hand at her back still moves in gentle waves, back and forth down her spine – Melia believes it might be Fiora, for the fingers feel like cutting metal, if the other happened to move over skin instead of armor, Melia would bleed ( and wasn’t that sad, shouldn’t Fiora be able to mourn her loss of touch, shouldn’t Reyn mourn his loss of his best friend, shouldn’t they all be _mourning?_ ) “It’ll be okay, Melia,” someone promises, but Melia shakes her head.

“No, it never will be.”


End file.
